The White King
by caballlah
Summary: After taking over the Hellfire Club, Scott Summers enjoys his new position as the White King. Most especially the White Queen.


Scott watched Emma brush her hair, still wet from the shower, her only adornment a fluffy towel wrapped around her perfect body, white of course. Of all her beauty routines, this was probably her most conventional, but she livened it up. She had _that _down to a science.

Every time she passed the comb through her hair, her arm raised up and almost made her large, gorgeous breasts slip out of the towel, which was tied almost precisely halfway up the slopes of her bosom. The fact that the towel was too short to cover all of her cleavage did not at all mean that her creamy ass and long legs were covered. No, Emma must have precisely measured the towel to ensure that wouldn't be the case. With each brushstroke, it minutely lifted to show the lowermost curve of her ass, already pressing deliciously out into the concealing towel, as well as the wispy fringe of the pubic hair between her thighs.

It all made Scott powerfully aroused, and that amused Emma as much as it would inevitably please her. A sex maniac was fun, but a sex maniac who wore the mask of a responsible leader, a long-suffering martyr, a paragon of self-control? That was _novel. _Emma adored novelty. She adored Scott too, of course, but adoration was much easier when it came with regular orgasms.

This evening, though, Scott wasn't in the mood to be manipulated. "Doug Preston got into Dartmouth."

"Oh?" Emma asked in a neutral tone of polite interest. She had no idea who that was. She could've plucked the details from Scott's consciousness—he wouldn't even mind—but she prided herself on not needing little hints like that. No longer brushing her hair, she blinked for a long moment to remember.

Doug Preston. Mutant. An old student. He'd had the power of shooting flames out of his fingertips like an oxygen acetylene torch. He'd wanted to be a lawyer, but his grades had been borderline. Scott had mentored him, saying he could do anything he set his mind to—typical heroic attitude—while Emma had tried to steer him to trade school.

"We made a bet about him," Scott prompted, not to remind Emma, but to twist the knife.

Emma's eyes widened as she recalled. Yes. She'd bet Scott that Doug would never make it into any reputable law school and he'd asked to make the stakes more interesting. If she won, she'd get his ass for a month—_finally _getting to peg him—but if he won…

If he won, her ass was _his._

"Yeah," Scott commiserated, able to see that Emma remembered by the way her spine stiffened. "Bend over my desk. You should be used to that right now."

Emma looked to the writing desk in their shared bedroom, the secondary—no, the tertiary workspace Scott used for paperwork. She had indeed bent over it several times, but always on her terms. Tempting him away from anything she deemed less interesting than herself, which was everything.

"Right now?" Emma asked tremblingly, not so much frightened as surprised. She knew Scott had his dirty, sexual side, but it was so unlike him for it to come out in the open without being provoked. _I've created a monster._

"No time like the present. Besides, I've always been the type to open my presents on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas morning."

"You could've fooled me," Emma snipped, dropping her towel to the floor with a satisfying _whump. _It was damp, but she wasn't dry, her skin dewy with a layer of dampness that would have Scott sliding pleasurably against her if it became a wrestling match. "I didn't know anyone loved you enough to get you Christmas presents."

"Emma, that hurts," Scott pouted, mock-wounded.

As she passed him, he lashed out with his hand and smacked her on the ass. Emma was no stranger to spankings, but the sheer unexpectedness of the gesture spurted an "ek!" out of her. She felt Scott's smile on her back as she paraded to the writing desk, feeling every sway in her hips, her ass rebounding with each step. He was going to _use _it. She hadn't even tempted him into it. It all felt so… submissive.

"Ass out," Scott continued, and Emma obligingly bent over the desk, her ass thrust out, her damp skin catching the light with a slippery sheen, the tarnished gold of her darkened hair flowing down her back like an arrow pointing to Scott's target. "Open up the left drawer."

Emma did. Her posture spread her asscheeks, letting her feel the air between her buttocks, the beads of water crawling down her valley and across her anus. When she opened the drawer, she found a vaguely Christmas tree-shaped buttplug and a jar of lubricant, the buttplug with a flanged base that had the famous X-Men logo—red, yellow, and black—on the end.

"Property of the X-Men?" Emma asked wryly.

"I am the X-Men," Scott said seriously. "You're a power-hungry cunt who loves me because I'm the only one who knows how much you like being a submissive bitch too."

Emma smiled. "You're getting to know me a little too well, love."

"Better all the time," Scott teased, pressing his right forefinger against her anus. He pushed it inward despite the pressure mounting to keep him out; the wetness of the shower made it easy. With Emma wincing in pain, he slid his finger in up to the first knuckle before he could go no further.

"I can't believe it," Emma husked, her voice tightened by both pain and the satisfaction she took from being used. "The master tactician can't lube up his bitch."

"Do I need to?" Scott asked. He ran his left hand between her legs, fingertips sliding over her labia, feeling a warm wetness that was far too copious to come from the shower. His middle finger slipped inside her easily, instantly becoming coated with her sweet juices. "I think you're enjoying this, Emma. You must really love it when you get to be a dirty little whore—your highness."

Emma's lips twitched in a pained smile. "Perhaps I'm just a gracious loser."

"Maybe you just like it more when I dom your submissive ass, while you get to pretend you don't like it."

"What's there to pretend about?"

Scott brought his right hand away from her anus, resting it on the curve of Emma's hip, squeezing the narrowness of her waist possessively. Emma bit her lip. He couldn't leave her with any doubt—any wiggle room—any possibility at all of denying she was his. He wasn't even topping her yet. Not really. He was just making her think about it, want it. What was really dominating her was his cock. That alone was enough to tame her. God, she couldn't believe she was going to have it in her ass…

The forefinger of his left hand was dripping with Emma's juices, her arousal. Scott pressed it against Emma's puckered asshole, easily plunging into her, up to the second knuckle now. Emma cried out, her voice guttural and not at all ladylike—revealing her true pleasure and not the coy satisfaction she wished to display.

Scott looked down at Emma's bare back as she writhed and squirmed. "Yeah. You can't even pretend you don't like it. Can you? You've missed being a whore so much that you're willing to beg for it. The White Queen…" he finished, sneering disdainfully, only turning Emma on more as he angered her. Any other man she would kill for such an affront, but she couldn't deny any of it—couldn't deny him. "Say it!"

"Hhhhhhh!" Emma gurgled, vented, her entire being seeming to be concentrated on the intrusion into her anus, the liberty Scott had taken, the claim he'd staked on her very flesh. But if he didn't own it, how could it feel so good? How could he be making it feel so good? "I love it! I love the way it feels!"

"And?" Scott demanded patiently, her asshole wrapped tightly around his wet finger, so tightly that he wondered if his cock would even fit in such a narrow passage. He reached inside her with the pointer finger of his other hand, stroking it along the thin wall that separated cunt and rectum, feeling his other finger inside her.

"I love being a whore," Emma breathed, her pale face actually blushing as she admitted it, ears burning, panting breath coursing out of her as her arousal skyrocketed. "I love being your whore, my king."

"And I love having you for a queen… whore."

Scott took his hands away, leaving Emma gasping, gulping in breath like she'd just run a marathon—dizzy with pleasure and lust, unsure if she wanted to face the humiliation of getting more, but not sure either that she could resist finishing the adventure. She would come so hard, she knew it. She always came hard for him.

Finally, unable to decide, unable to _move, _she simply rested her head against the desktop and waited for Scott to continue. That was the luxury of allowing Scott to dominate her. He handled pesky dilemmas like that. And she was a woman who loved her luxuries.

Scott picked up the buttplug and tended to it. He lubricated every inch of it but the base, carefully, assiduously, while Emma regrouped below him, trusting him implicitly to take care of it. He'd made his point, but he would never go so far as to put it in dry. He loved her too much for that. The only kind of pain he could enjoy from her was the kind she thanked him for.

Emma gritted her teeth, feeling the cold metallic tip of the buttplug brush between her cheeks, then probe into her anus. Scott's finger had opened her up, spread her out, but that had been a thin, slender _finger. _This was… this was _Scott. _An everlasting reminder of her submission to him and his ownership of her. She strained, she panted, breathing hard to take it as it kept _opening _her and _opening _her, rendering the pressure inside her rectum _nothing, _not until it was in and she was squeezing tightly around it…

"This is going to keep you nice and wide for me," Scott said fondly, running the fingers of his free hand through Emma's hair, petting her sweetly. That's what she was—his pet. "And whenever I want, you're going to bend over and take it out so I can fuck your ass. You understand? You're a whore, Emma, and I'm your only client. Your ass is mine to use. It doesn't belong to you anymore. Now it's where I put my cum when I don't want to find a tissue to jerk off into."

Emma's eyes were rolling up into her head. This proved it. He was her master. She was his, body and soul. No other man could speak to her this way unless it felt this good… her entire body _throbbing _to be his cum dumpster. And he did it so slowly too. Every word carefully considered, unhurried. Every inch of the buttplug occupying her ass with patient movement, barely any pain, making it clear to her all the pleasure she took from it. She just had to think about when he would do it—tell her to bend over, take the plug out, replace it with his cock—and her pussy clenched. She nearly came. She couldn't wait. She hated not having anyone worthy of her, no one who could handle her. Scott… Scott knew exactly what she wanted. He knew the only thing you could get for a queen was not being a queen. And she wasn't when she was with him. She was a slut. A cock holster. A piece of ass. When she wasn't with him, she could dress up, the servants could bow and scrape, captains of industry and heads of state could kowtow to her—but she'd still feel the heft of the buttplug between her cheeks, reminding her of who she bent over for.

Someone knocked at the door. The buttplug still wasn't in all the way—Scott's damnable concern for her well-being—she was stretched around the widest part of the taper, feeling like she was going to split open, gasping for the relief of it going in the rest of the way, allowing her to close around the drop-off and have only the base of the plug to remind her who her ass belonged to.

"Enter," Scott said, putting his middle and forefinger on the back of her neck. It was a light, casual gesture, but it did something no amount of force could. It kept Emma in place, bent over his desk, her cheeks spread, a buttplug deep in her anus, all while Scott stood fully dressed over her, his other hand on the buttplug, keeping it from going deeper and keeping it from slipping out. Could there be any doubt who was the king? Or who was his queen?

It was Sage. The mutant stepped inside, taking in her mistress's nudity and her master's cool, unabashed casualness. Emma was flushed, sweat breaking out over her once clean body—it only turned her on more to have someone else see her like this. Whores didn't just fuck, after all. Whores _performed._

"There's been a problem with the oil contracts at Viridian," Sage announced, her harshly metallic tone almost leavening the sweet humiliation Emma felt. Almost. What care did a computerized mind had that she was a man's bitch? "The mining company is threatening to sue us for breach of contract. Our lawyers blame the contractors."

Scott nodded. "Prepare an overview of the situation. I'll want to look over all the necessary documents. And wake Gantz, I'll want him on it as soon as I've decided on a course of action."

Sage bowed in obligatory obeisance. "Yes, White King."

"One other thing," Scott said. "The White Queen here has lost a bet. As a result, her ass is mine to do with as I please. At the moment, it pleases me to be able to fuck it whenever I wish, with this buttplug keeping her ready for me. I'm making it your responsibility to see to it that she's wearing it at all times, except when bodily functions are necessary. So, whenever you deem it necessary, you will ask that Emma show you her ass so you can make sure she has it in. If she doesn't, you will report to me." He tapped on the buttplug with his fingers, sending it skittering a few precious centimeters into Emma's rectum. She gaped—she could feel it about to slide home. On the very cusp… "And Emma will be severely punished."

Sage nodded. "Yes, White King."

Scott flicked his forefinger into the buttplug and _finally, _it was in. Emma heaved a sigh in comingled relief and release. She felt orgasmic—_complete. _

Scott patted her on the ass. "You should get some sleep, Emma. You look beat."

Emma managed to pry her face from where she'd rested it on the desk. "Aren't you going to… you've gotten me ready… aren't you going to?"

"You heard Sage." Scott pointed to her. "I have business to attend to."

Sage nodded like there was a flywheel in her neck. "I've gathered the necessary files and forwarded them to your computer in the den. Would you also like refreshments, sir?"

"Some orange slices. An espresso. And help Emma to the bed, would you? Despite the rumors, she isn't used to walking around with a stick up her ass."


End file.
